


Saving Sam

by simplyoverstated



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anorexia, Brotherly Love, Eating Disorder, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Season 1, Self Harm, The Family Business, anorexic!sam, hunting things, platonic, saving people, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-12-09 04:40:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyoverstated/pseuds/simplyoverstated
Summary: How many people had he saved? Hundreds at least. So why couldn’t he save his brother?Sam didn’t sleep. He said he did; he put on a good show, but Dean knew. And Sam didn’t eat, not really. When he did it was because Dean gave him no choice. Sam may be the smart one, but Dean wasn’t stupid. Sam was in trouble, and he needed help whether he admitted it or not.





	1. Sam's Hungry

They arrived at the motel slightly after midnight, both exhausted from the drive. It had been nearly 12 hours on the open road with only beef jerky and granola bars to tide them over, and Dean’s stomach growled loudly as they entered the room and dropped their bags on the beds.

Sam flopped down on the bed farthest from the door, letting out a long sigh and closing his eyes.

“Hey I think I saw a 24-hour store down the road. You want anything?” Sam didn’t answer.

“Sammy?” He gave a start and sat up.

“What?”

“Food. What do you want?”

Sam closed his eyes and laid back once more, crossing his arms over his stomach. “Oh. That’s ok, I think I’m just gonna get some sleep.”

“You sure?” No answer. “Ok, suit yourself.” He set out into the cool night air.

 

 

10 minutes later he found himself walking up and down the aisles of the grungy gas station, thinking. Sammy hadn’t eaten anything all day, had he? Maybe he was getting sick. That wouldn’t be good. This case seemed like a doozy, and they needed to be on top of their game.

His brother had been quiet ever since Jessica. Sometimes at night he heard soft sobs from Sam’s bed. Other times Sam just yelled and moaned in his sleep, calling her name and waking up in a panic. When this happened, Dean did his best to calm him down. He held him, not saying anything; what could be said? And he felt Sam shaking in his arms.

They never talked about these vulnerable moments in the morning. It was always like it hadn’t happened, and Sam would avoid eye contact with Dean a lot of the time. He was embarrassed, but he needn’t be. Dean understood. He just wished he could be of more help.

He decided to grab a case of beer and a sad-looking pre-packaged salad in addition to his own sandwich and chips. Sam could eat it or not, but he should at least have the option.

By the time he got back to the room Sam was fast asleep. He put Sam’s food in the mini-fridge and ate his own solitary meal, trying with difficulty to keep his eyes open. Eventually he failed, and he woke the next morning with a horrible crick in his neck, having fallen asleep at the small table.

Sam had already left; gone on a run no doubt. The salad was still in the fridge.


	2. When it Rains

Sam’s heart beat fast and his legs ached, but he didn’t stop. He felt like he could never stop, never stop running. Either he was running from his screwed up family, or from demons, or from himself. He had been running his whole life. Maybe he wasn’t running from anything; maybe he was just trying to catch up.

His breath burned in his lungs, and suddenly his head swam. He paused, panting heavily, and leaned against a large oak tree by the side of the road. It began to rain. How fitting. He slid to the base of the tree, suddenly exhausted. He kind of liked the feeling, though. It was like a high. It took him out of his head, if only for a second.

After a while he hauled himself off the ground at the protest of his aching muscles, and jogged the couple miles back to the motel. By the time he arrived, he was soaked, and the raindrops mixed with the silent tears that seemed to come so easily these days. He didn’t even look at Dean as he stalked past him to take a shower.

“Hey, I got you breakfast!” Dean called to the closed bathroom door. Sam pretended he hadn’t heard, and turned on the water. He reveled in the heat, nearly scalding, just the way he liked it. He didn’t want to think about anything anymore. Again he felt a wave of dizziness, the same high as before. He closed his eyes, and for a second he forgot about everything. It was soon over.

As he came out of the bathroom fully dressed, Dean looked up from the pile of papers in front of him. “Hey I got you breakfast.” He slid a greasy-looking McGriddle and a coffee across the table towards Sam, who picked up the coffee. He didn’t even glance at the steaming sandwich. He figured Dean wouldn’t push it.

“There’s also a salad in the fridge if you want something else…” Dean’s tone was probing, but Sam wasn’t taking the bait.

He answered casually, “I’m good, actually. So I was thinking maybe we should head to the church first? You know, talk to the priest. Maybe he saw something.” Dean frowned momentarily, but apparently decided to let it slide for now.

“Sure.”


	3. Lollipops and Candy canes

Dean was sure Sam hadn't slept in a week. He looked like death, honestly. So when he fell asleep in the tiny motel room in the middle of the day, Dean let him sleep. Sure, he would probably have the nightmare, but if he didn't sleep worse things would happen. He already wasn't eating anything, and Dean was just waiting for everything to catch up to the kid. He didn't want that to happen.

 

* * *

 

Sam snapped awake, Jess’s pleas for help still ringing in his ears. _Why, Sam?_ He looked around, his heart still beating too fast, his blood cold. There was Dean, watching him. He sighed, trying to calm himself down.

“Why’d you let me fall asleep?” When he slept, he dreamed, and when he dreamed…well, he avoided it when he could.

“Because I’m an awesome brother.” Dean wasn't smiling. He looked more than concerned, though his tone was casual. “So what’d you dream about?”

“Lollipops and Candy Canes.” He hoped Dean would drop it. Dean seemed to get the hint, though begrudgingly.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He could still see Jess in his mind’s eye, pressed against the ceiling, engulfed in flames. _It’s your fault Sam._ He couldn’t stand the waking hours, haunted by guilt. But the dreams were worse. Dean was still looking at him with poorly veiled concern. Sam stood up quickly, turning away from Dean. His vision darkened temporarily and dizziness swept over him, but in a moment the episode passed, and he made his way to the bathroom. Alone, he stared into the mirror. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t find Dad, couldn’t save Jess. What on earth was he good for? 

 

* * *

 

Sam was shrinking so fast Dean was afraid he would vanish. The kid was already skinny as all hell; Dean had always teased him about it. But now…well, now it was different. The nightmares were getting worse, and the kid still wouldn't talk about it. 

Sam went running every day, usually as early as 4 or 5 in the morning. He was always awake when Dean went to sleep (which wasn't early), and he was up and showered by the time Dean woke up every morning. 

Dean knew it had to stop soon. Sam couldn't keep this up forever. But he wasn't sure what to expect.  

 

* * *

 

“Why don’t you eat anymore, Sammy?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“You are my business.”

And so on. But it never helped any, and Dean wanted things to be good between them. It was clear things were going downhill fast. As much as he could, he tried to be there for Sam. He was better at fighting demons


	4. To the Bone

It was raining outside. Pouring, actually. They stumbled into the room like drowned rats, both nursing injuries from the hunt. Dean had a couple bruised ribs, but nothing too serious. Sam, however, was bleeding badly.

“Hey, let me take a look at that.” Dean reached over towards Sam, but Sam flinched away.

“I can handle it.” He seemed almost angry, and Dean backed away a step.

“Sorry, but I think you’re gonna need stitches. I just thought…”

“I can do it.” Dean felt a little anger flair up in his chest. He worked to keep his voice steady, reasonable.

“No, you can’t. It’s too far back, you won’t be able to reach it properly.” Sam glared at the floor, avoiding eye contact. Dean could tell Sam knew he was right. What was up with the kid? They caught the thing, didn’t they? He approached his brother more cautiously. Trying to make eye contact. Instead of meeting his gaze, Sam begrudgingly pulled his shirt over his head, wincing as the material slid over the wide gash on his side.

Dean’s blood went cold. A skeletal figure stood before him.

Sam really did look like he was dying. Large, dark bruises covered his body. They weren’t all from this fight; some were yellowed with time. His skin clung to his bones like wet paper, and Dean could see the muscles between his ribs moving with each breath. His stomach was all but completely concave, and his hip-bones stuck out over his jeans, which were cinched close to his thin body with a belt that had more than a couple extra holes poked out with a knife.

His shoulder blades looked like knives, and dean could see every vertebrae on Sam’s back. Had all this happened in the few months since Jessica died? And could Dean really have been so blind as not to see how bad it really was? He felt sick.

“Sam…” His voice caught in his throat. He tried again.

“Sam, what…” He felt a tear trickle down his cheek, but he wiped it away, suddenly angry. “What the fuck is this Sam? Please tell me some demon sucked the life out of you or some shit. Tell me you didn’t do this to yourself.” Sam was looking away. He had sat staring at the floor without expression, allowing Dean to take in the full picture without attempting to cover anything. When he spoke it was so quiet Dean almost couldn't hear him over the pelting rain. 

“I’m tired.” Dean wasn’t expecting that. He faltered for a second.

“You’re ti – Sam I don’t give a damn, you don’t get to get out of this discussion. Look at you! You’re dying, Sam…You’re –” He stopped. Tears were streaming down Sam’s face, falling to the floor. 

“Sam, I –”

“I’m _tired,_ Dean. Of living like this, of the guilt, of feeling like nothing we do makes any difference. Jessica is dead, and it’s my fault. People die around us all the time, Dean, and I’m tired. I’m just –” He was practically sobbing now, unable to form words. His face showed all the pain Dean knew he had been feeling all this time, the weight of the world on his little brother’s shoulders. Dean couldn’t stand seeing Sam in so much pain. He felt like he had been stabbed, as though he were bearing the guilt and the pain Sam was describing. In a way, he was. Sam was _his_ responsibility. Sammy’s pain was his too.

He crossed the room in 2 strides, and grasped his brother's shoulders, looking at him intensely. "Sam, I - we're gonna get through this, ok?"

Tears were streaming down both their faces, and Dean was holding Sam’s shaking form now, bearing most of his weight. It wasn’t much to bear, but it was everything.

“I know, Sam. I know. I – Sam!” All of a sudden Sam’s body went limp in his arms, and they both sunk to the floor.

“Sam! Sammy!” Dean shook Sam vigorously, but there was no response. The kid was still and…cold. He wasn’t shaking anymore.


	5. Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so short! I'm working on the next part too

One moment Dean was holding his brother’s shaking form, comforting him. The next Sam was limp in his arms, and the shaking had ceased. Panic surged through him, and he tried to ignore how light Sam was as he lowered him carefully too the floor.

  
“Sam! Sam!” There was no answer, no movement from his little brother. “God-Damnit Sammy wake up!” His hands shook as he attempted to rouse Sam to no avail.

A pulse, please have a pulse… his fingers found their way to the side of Sam’s neck as he prayed, harder than he ever had before, for Castiel.

“Dean.” Dean jumped and instinctively threw himself over Sam’s unconscious form before he registered the voice. It was Cas.

“Cas!” His angel. “Cas, it’s Sam, he’s –”

“Alive. He’s still alive, Dean.” A breath, a small relief, but only for a moment as he gazed down at his brother, his hand still staunching the deep gash in Sam’s side.

“Cas, can you – can you heal him?” He knew he sounded pitiful, desperate. The angel looked down at him sadly. Without a word he knelt down beside Sam and layed his hand over Dean’s, who felt the wound close beneath his fingers.

He could have sworn he felt Cas’ fingers squeeze his gently before he stood back. He wished Cas would stay by his side, but he would never ask, not in a million years.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can do. He needs medical attention.”

Dean’s mind was racing, and he realized tears were streaming down his face. He hadn’t cried in what felt like years, but today they would not stop. He wiped them away angrily.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” He had to work to keep his voice from wavering, tearing his eyes away from Sam’s still, pale face to look up at Cas accusingly. Castiel was looking at him, searching his eyes. For what?

“I’m afraid my powers, though strong, cannot heal self-inflicted wounds. That was Lucifer’s doing, many centuries ago. I can heal his superficial traumas, but all he has done to himself – well, that’s up to him.”

Dean shook his head, hoping to right his thoughts.

“but – he’ll be ok, though?”

“That is up to him. He his hurting more, I sense, than either of us know. He is not eating, not sleeping…if he continues on this path, I’m afraid nothing can be done to help him. Self destruction is a powerful monster, Dean.”

Dean was without words. He looked back down at Sam, his baby brother. He heard the beat of a wing and knew Cas was gone. He was alone.

  
No. He wouldn’t do it. Sam was his brother, his responsibility, and he wasn’t going to any hospital while Dean was around to take care of him. What would they even do? Lock Sam up? Take him away from Dean? Dean, who got him through his nightmarish nights, who provided for him when their father was off hunting? It was always Dean, and it always would be. He wasn’t going to let Sam fade away when it was his job to protect him. No fucking way.

Dean knelt down, scooping Sam’s frail form into his arms, and carried him to the bed. “Don’t worry Sam. We’re gonna get through this. I’ll get you through this if it kills me.”


	6. You Will Not Win

Over the next few weeks Sam tried to eat. Dean would bring him fruit and salads and anything under the sun he thought Sam might like, and Sam really tried to be better. Every mouthful made Dean so happy, and for a while that was enough to make it worth it. But it didn’t last long. One day, when Dean had gone out to the store, Sam pulled out the scales he kept secretly at the bottom of his bag. It was something he had been both excited and terrified of ever since he had been found out: _how much do I weigh?_ He remembered what that number had been the day before his collapse. 118 lbs. He had been so proud of that number, but it had to be higher now with what he had been eating. Eating for Dean.

He took a deep breath and stepped on the scales, eyes closed. After a moment he opened them slowly, and looked down. ‘123’ stared back at him. His stomach flipped, and he felt his skin go clammy. _It’s fine, just a small setback._ But it didn’t feel fine. He was breathing very heavily, and he sat down on the edge of the tub hard, trying to catch his breath. He had been doing so well, even feeling better, more energetic and happier these past few days. But there was that feeling again, that need to be smaller, take up less room.

He was panicked, and he was alone, and Dean wasn’t here. The only thing here was Sam and a fridge full of food. 

 

* * *

 

Sam knows he needs to eat something. He opens up the cupboard with a deep breath, eyeing everything lined up on the shelves, taunting him. _Eat me. Come on Sam, eat me._ Carefully, he selects a banana and a granola bar. This shouldn’t be hard. It’s nothing, really. Not even a meal. A snack. He can do this. He can be normal for one snack.

But soon, far too soon, the granola bar and banana are gone. Sam stares down at the empty wrapper, and tries to find comfort in the full feeling in his stomach. He tries to focus on physical sensations, on energy and contentment, but his mind keeps tugging at him. Now that he’s had a taste, he wants more. It scares him how visceral that need is, but he follows it anyways.

Sam’s heart beats fast, his hands sweating and his breath hitched. He can feel it threatening to break out of his chest at any moment. _Stop_. One then another, then a handful, no taste, no pleasure. _Stop._ His brain must be disconnected from his body because he doesn’t stop. There is a version of himself standing outside his body, watching, helpless. It shouts, screams, _Stop!_

He does not stop.

Another part of him, the one in control, is wild and frantic and _hungry_. God, so hungry. Ravenous.

_Everything, all of it, grab this, throw this in the microwave while you eat this; now something sweet, ice cream – no! Oreos, all of them, just take the box, nothing matters. Toast, bread, warm and comforting, that will make you feel better now won’t it?_

It’s around this time he knows the stakes have changed. No longer ‘healthy snack’, he’s gone too far. He sees his immediate future, bent over the toilet bowl, the smell of vomit burning his nostrils. Inevitable. May as well go all in.

_It’s easier to throw it up when you’ve eaten more._ How wise, how true. He can eat everything now. He has permission. From who?

_Go to the grocery sto – no! fast food, French fries and shakes and…_

He’s already pulling his shoes on, still shoving food in his mouth as he flies out the door, a wild urgency in his chest.

_Eat. You will feel better. Eat._

 

* * *

 

 

“Sam?” Dean’s voice echoed outside the door, questioning and slightly panicked. Sam froze, two fingers halfway to his gag reflex. How much had Dean heard? He hadn’t been paying attention to anything but purging, and he hadn’t heard Dean approach the door or even come home. He looked around in a panic. He had only been able to purge part of his binge. _Disgusting, dirty, foul –_ and Dean was there. Dean was there! Shit, shit shit…

“Just a second!” He called frantically trying to wipe off his fingers with toilet paper. _Filthy, worthless, burden…_

But the door was already being pushed open, and he couldn’t reach the handle fast enough to flush away his mistakes before Dean was standing there, fire in his eyes. “Sam, what’s going on, I thought I heard…” But he stopped, staring around at the unflushed toilet, and Sam leaning against the wall. Sam looked away, defeated. He couldn’t face Dean. He didn’t want to see the disappointment and disgust in his brother’s face.

“Dean, I –”

“What the hell Sammy? What are you – wha – what the hell?” Sam flinched at the anger in Dean’s voice. He wasn’t getting away from this one. He had been found out. He turned reluctantly to see his brother standing there, his expression a mixture of shock, anger and… was that pity? Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. This was worse than he ever could have imagined.

“You weren’t supposed to be home for another hour.” He stared at the floor, his voice, he knew, was barely audible. He could feel his walls rising, stone in his face and head and chest. Shutting down. This was too much, Dean seeing him, disgusted with his little brother. When Dean didn’t say anything, he looked up again. Dean had his eyes closed, and seemed to be taking several deep breaths. Sam needed to get out of here, now. He looked around frantically for a way out, and made to push past his brother out of the bathroom, out of the motel, away from all this. But Dean was too quick for him.

He opened his eyes at the movement, and caught Sam before he could reach the door. “Oh no you don’t, we’re going to talk about this.” He led Sam over to the bed, sitting down beside him. His voice was surprisingly soft as he spoke again. “Sam, please tell me what’s going on. I saw the kitchen, I heard you…I mean, Sammy, I don’ t know what to do. I don’t know what this is.” Sam looked up at him, and was surprised to see tears welling in his brothers eyes. He looked away quickly. He had been causing his brother so much pain as of late. Dean didn’t deserve that.

He took a deep breath, looking away from Dean, down at the floor. His chest felt heavy and cold. “I just…I was doing better, I was. I just needed something, something like the pain from before.” God this was hard. “I just…Sometimes, if I have too much I just…Ugh, I don’t want to talk about this.” His voice was beginning to shake, and he didn’t want to cry in front of Dean. He was already feeling panicky, realizing that he still had so much food inside of him, mistakes eating away at his insides. If he walked away now, didn’t get rid of it, it would sit there, nourishing him, forestalling the end that much longer.

This thought caught him off guard, as did Dean’s next words.  

 

“You’re dying, Sammy.” Sam looked up at him, frowning.

“No, I –”

“You’re gonna die if you don’t stop this. You do see that, don’t you?” Sam took a deep breath.  
“No, I’m not. Dean, I’m fine, ok? You don’t have to worry about me, I have it under control.” It was true, in a way.

“Control? You call this control? No, no this is…I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t controlled, and it isn’t you. It’s like you’ve been taken over by this – this _thing_ , and you keep trying to rationalize it but I see right through you because you’re not making sense. It’s blinding you, Sammy, so you can’t see the truth, but you’re dying. That’s one thing I’m sure of, and I’m not about to let that happen.”

Sam was getting angry now. He felt trapped and guilty, and Dean was now standing between him and the one thing he needed more than anything else. He was an adult, he could do what he wanted, and it wasn’t Dean’s job to take care of him anymore.

“Well, I – at least I’m eating, Dean.” He tried desperately to sound sane and rational, though he knew it made no sense. Dean knew it too. He looked at Sam in disbelief, temporarily speechless.

“You…are you fucking kidding me right now? At least you’re eating? This is – that’s…” he rubbed his hand over his face in frustration, sitting back down on the bed. Sam’s eyes darted towards the bathroom door, now unblocked. But Dean was watching too.

“Oh no you don’t.” Dean was looking back and forth between Sam and the door now. He must have seen the longing in Sam’s eyes, the panic. He stood up and knelt in front of Sam, grabbing his shoulders and looking at him seriously.

“Sam, listen to me. You don’t have to do this. You’re stronger than this, I know you are.”

It was becoming more and more difficult to keep the tears at bay. “I don’t think I am, Dean.”

Dean took a shaky breath and looked down. When he looked back up at Sammy there were tears staining his cheeks. The anger in his eyes was gone, replaced by desperation and sadness.

“Not by yourself, maybe. But I’m here. Hell, we’ve gotten through worse than this before, right? I mean, the things we fight? How many times have we cheated death and won?” It was true. Maybe that was why Sam was feeling this way. They were overdue.

The look in Dean’s eyes and the heaviness in his chest combined with the aftereffects of purging seemed to converge on Sam, and he let out a sob. Before he knew what was happening Dean had pulled him onto the floor with him and the brothers just sat there, embracing, comforting each other as they had done countless times before.

His brother's arms felt safe and warm, but in the back of his mind whispered a voice, almost indiscernible. _You will not win this fight._


End file.
